


Wear it differently

by magical_realism27



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Pre-Series, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magical_realism27/pseuds/magical_realism27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If she kept her eyes open, she could pretend that the two twin beams of light from the train was the light. </p><p>And she could take another step. She could fall. Like an angel, like a martyr. A simile. An amalgam of classic heriones from her books.</p><p>Absolved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wear it differently

She had always loved to read. It'd given her something to do with her hands, flipping the pages. Her mother, a woman past the average age of motherhood when she'd had her, had often called her,affectionately, a restless little shit.

In highschool, it'd been softball and lacrosse, and tennis at the club. Clutching a bat or stick or racket with white knuckles so she could, maybe, ignore the shaking of her fingers.

But it had also been Shakespeare and Hemingway and Salinger. (She'd tried Cummings and Keats and Frost, but if she read too many metaphores she was afraid she would turn into one). 

 

The day her father died, she had been reading  _Hamlet_. And maybe that was the reason why she ended up smirking at the foot of his hospital bed; not because of the bruise on her shoulder. Her mother had wept quitely, she did everything quitely. Sobs shook her body and Beth knew if she didn't stop her, ground her, with a hand on the shoulder or the waist, that she would faint. So Beth did. Because she was dutiful, because she  _had_ to. 

And her mother melted into her. And her sobs didn't sound that quite anymore.

 

She was fourteen when her father died. She was sixteen the first time she ran a marathon. She was ten the first time she kissed a boy. Beth had tried, her whole life, to care about numbers, about facts, about dates. But she only cared about stories. 

Sanders Clement was the first boy she kissed. Their mothers were friends and he'd had red hair and green eyes. She called him Colonel because she thought it was funny at the time. (She'd never been praised for her sense of humor.) They had been playing pirate ship, he tried to make her walk the plank, but instead she had kissed him. They dated for thirty-five minutes; until his mother picked him up. 

Her first boyfriend was tan and strong. He wore a letterman jacket and smelled like cheap drugstore deodorant and cinnamon. He called her "Bethany" almost exclusively and would always kiss her first. 

On the anniversary of her father's death, he held her hand through the entire memorial. 

Later that day he fucked her in his living room. 

 

Then there was a girl. Eva. She was on the lacrosse team too, but she liked lipstick and made Beth watch romantic comedies. She wore her blonde hair in a braid down her back and convinced Beth to grow hers out. They drank too much watermelon flavored vodka one night, and kissed. Beth had planted a hand, maybe too hard, on Eva's hip, but Eva had just gently cupped her face. Sometimes, if she tried hard enough, Beth could still tear up at the memory.

"We go to an all girls Catholic school." Eva had explained to Beth after practice one evening. "It was bound to happen sometime, Childs." 

After that, but maybe before or maybe during, she got sad. "Got", like it was some kind of fucked up present a great-aunt she never met had sent her in her Christmas card, pressed inbetween two twenty dollar bills. 

So her mother sent her to a therapist. Thursdays, weekly, at 5:00 pm. 

Beth didn't mind the stranger in the chair across the room wearing the black cardigan and chunky jewelry. She didn't mind the Xanax and the sleepless nights. She didn't mind anything anymore.

"After a tragic loss, such as the death of your father-"  _No, that wasn't it._

"The pressure of being a high school senior must be taking a toll-"  _Not that either._

"Just breathe. Just count to ten. Just-" "Just shut up." 

Which was odd, considering Beth had never had an overt problem with authority.

Maybe it was the Xanax.

 

"I got into Columbia." She told her mother about a month after the fact, once the victory had gone cold. She didn't glance up from her spaghetti.

 

Beth had always wanted a sister.

"Are we twins?" 

"I was invitro." Her identical snapped. 

"Was I?" Beth's eyes widened. Here was this girl, her height, her nose, her  _face_. Standing in front of her at 11:59 pm at a Walgreens in New York. 

"How should I know?" 

"Right. Stupid question." 

"You don't get flustered a lot, do you?" This girl smiled an easy smile, and suddenly they didn't look so similar anymore. "I'm Cosima." 

"Beth Childs. I can't believe we're twins. Or something." 

Or something. 

 

"Can't you ask your mother?"

"I haven't spoken to her in, like, three years."

"Heavy." 

"Hey, can I bum one of those?"Beth stretched across Cosima's grungy futon to take the cigarette out of her hand. 

Cosima adjusted her tanktop. "And your dad?"

"Uh, dead. Cancer."

"Crazy."

Beth took a drag. "The thing is, I hated him for it. The whole 'slow death' thing. Like, just die if you're gonna. I would rather have it be quick.  _Snap_. Or  _boom_ or whatever."

"For real?"

"For real. Damn straight." 

 

 

_I should've read more books. Been fucked harder, loved more strongly. I should've sweated more._

Step, step, step, step. 

 _Don't close your eyes._  

If she kept her eyes open, she could pretend that the two twin beams of light from the train was  _the light_. 

And she could take another step. She could fall. Like an angel, like a martyr. A simile. An amalgam of classic heriones from her books.

Absolved. 

 

Maybe some other time.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks for reading! I don't own Orphan Black, obviously. I just really love Beth and needed to share some head-canons, making myself sad in the process.


End file.
